Mortal, Finite, Temporary
by Arcanaeum
Summary: While the Dragonborn was successful in purging the world of Aludin's terror, Skyrim's very core has been shaken as the hero has mysteriously vanished. Upon vanishing, some of his most powerful artifacts have been scattered across Skyrim. To find these artifacts, a group from outside of Skyrim use the guise of a newspaper operation to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands.


Despite having been relit on several occasions, the candles within the small study refused to provide any more than the inkling of light that they already were. The shadows of the high reaching bookcases stretched in long angled paths across the walls, creating alternating bars of darkness and light. Books that could not be located on the vast number of shelves, were often found haphazardly scattered along the wooden floors either in teetering piles or as a stand-alone next to their respective bookcases.

The room, despite its implications of a nature brimming with silent study and diligence, was riddled with a cacophony of rustling paper and clashing materials. Dried up inkwells and broken quills littered the area around the study's sole desk, creating the impression that the study was the workshop to either Skyrim's most enthusiastic writer, or biggest slob. It was here that the stacks of books reached the highest. Had they not simply been creations built from anxiety filled nights and stressful work, they would have been quite the sight.

The perpetrator behind the study's disturbance leaned her back against the desk and thumbed through the old tome in her hand. With her free hand, she dipped her owl's feather in the inkwell on the floor and proceeded to scribble down hastily written chicken scratch on the margins of one of the pages. Setting that book aside, she reached behind her and grabbed another that had been resting on the table behind her. It too had its innards mutilated in a flurry of jargon understood only by the writer of said jargon.

So enthralled by her work was she that she heard neither the door opening nor the not-so-silent footsteps that followed. The steps were inconsistent, more than likely due to the scattered volumes of books lying to and fro. A few moments passed before the intruder finally revealed himself, a slender Khajiit possessing a combination of an inquisitive look and a playful smile.

"Tell me," he said as he rounded the corner in its entirety, "When was the last time this one had a proper night's rest?"

"Um," the girl lightly tapped the feathered part of her quill against her chin, "A day or so I believe." She did not hesitate in putting the quill back to parchment.

The Khajiit leaned against one of the many bookshelves and shifted his weight. "To be honest, that's a better answer than what I was expecting. You've been digging yourself much too deep into your work as of late. It's hardly healthy for you."

Without responding to his statement, the woman glanced around the room. Her brow furrowed, "Where's Mesura?"

"He is in Morthal if I remember correctly. Supposedly, the town alchemist came into possession of some Hist Sap imported in from Black Marsh. He was looking to get ahold of some."

The woman sighed and closed the tome in front of her. She placed it next to her on the ground and stood up after what had felt like a century. She stretched and cracked her joints and when she was certain she had worked out all of the kinks, she sat on the edge of the table. "What of the news in Riverwood?"

"As far as I could gather, there have been no disturbances in the past three weeks or so. The citizens have not had any unusual activity coming from one of their own. Then again, they could have simply been trying their damndest to get me to leave their town as soon as possible, so take that information for what it's worth."

"Did you mark it?"

The Khajiit reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded map. He handed it over which the girl took and opened up. She laid it flat on the table behind her, examining the contents that had been written therein.

"J'kizo, I can't read your handwriting." She lifted the map and pointed to a small section of text next to an arrow that pointed directly at Riverwood.

"My apologies, I was in a rush at the time. It simply says that Riverwood is cleared." J'kizo took a moment to set himself down on the floor, allowing his tail to rest next to him. "I don't see why you insist on having us write everything down in Tamrielic. Surely the language of the Khajiit would have done just fine?"

"Perhaps, but you need to get in the practice of scribing things in Tamrielic. You and I grew up speaking and writing as the Khajiit do, but only because we were fortunate enough to be born in Elsweyr. Mesura was not so lucky, and acquisition of the Khajiit tongue by someone born in Black Marsh is, well, tedious to say the least." The woman reached beside her and tossed J'kizo one of the many books surrounding her. "Here, page seventy-two. Read off this list so I can update the map, please."

"Ugh," the Khajiit moaned, "This one is a slave driver masquerading as a scholar."

J'kizo flipped the book open and began to scan through it quickly. He was halfway through the book when he realized the text written within didn't correspond to anything they had been keeping record of. In fact, the text was a complete mismatch. Curious, he flipped to the inside cover of the book, noting the words that had been inscribed there.

"Property of Fara Featherheart. Personal journal dated—hey!"

The book had already been removed from his claws and replaced with a similar looking one, although it was slightly more weathered than the first. "I'd rather you not read my journal."

"Ah, hiding some dark secrets are we?" J'kizo chuckled inwardly. "Perhaps this one is a Sugar-Tooth, like J'kizo's youngest brother?"

"The only sugar I dabble in is in sweet rolls. Now, the list please," Fara prodded.

"No fun at all. Ahem, Riverwood: no activity. Koskegger Mine: active, cleared. Orotheim: possible activity. Rorikstead: active, cleared. Ivarstead…" J'kizo caught himself taking a side glance at Fara's finger, "Active, cleared."

"Is that it?"

"I am afraid so."

Fara cursed under her breath. "We're hardly making a dent here as far as progress. At this rate the artifacts could end up outside of Skyrim's borders in just a few weeks. We don't have the manpower for this."

"Perhaps you should contact your associates back on the Summerset Isles?" J'kizo offered.

"And risk having the Thalmor breathing down our necks? I'd rather not. We're trying to prevent a war here. We can't risk either side catching wind of my research." Fara couldn't help but let a tired yawn escape her mouth. She was beginning to feel the harsh effects of going without sleep.

"I think someone needs her beauty sleep."

"No, no. There's more research to be done." She began to walk toward a pile of books, but was halted by a fuzzy arm.

"Come on. You need to go night-night."

"J'kizo—"

"If you come without a fight, I'll even sing you a lullaby."

"Ugh, fine I'll go, but only under the condition that you stop talking to me like a child."

The Khajiit removed his arm. "Done and done."

With an almost sarcastic smile, Fara passed by J'kizo and began wading through the innumerable amount of books toward the exit. As she placed her hand on the door, she heard J'kizo call back to her.

"By the way, I hope that you will take heed of that ring of yours. Given the circumstances, we cannot be too careful. And take that thing on your face when you're inside. It does not shame me to see it."

Fara did not reply at first, rather she placed a hand a top the cloth that shielded her left eye from the world. She traced the folds on it, feeling the fabric beneath her fingers. She had almost been lucky enough to forget that fabric was around her face at all.

"It's not just you I'm afraid of shaming," and with that, she stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

* * *

The sounds of hooves meeting stone echoed loudly as the two stallions carried along their precious cargo atop their backs. Dressed as any commoner would be, Fara snapped the reins and clicked her teeth, prompting J'kizo to do the same. As they gradually picked up speed, Ivarstead slowly melted into the horizon behind them. The satchels on either side of their horses were stacked to the brim with either food or old newspapers.

J'kizo turned to his steadfast companion, who had taken it upon herself to take the lead, "Are you certain that bringing our operation into a hold capital is such a good idea? My people are not welcome in the cities, and I highly doubt you will be able to convince them otherwise."

"If worst comes to worst, I'll have you link up with the caravans. It's possible that Ri'saad would be willing to give us some information, provided we pay him of course."

"Heh heh, it certainly would not be unlike him to value coin over a conscious. Methinks he's developed quite the knack for swindling and the like."

"To each his own. He's honest to us and that's what matters at the moment."

Fara's body continued to bob up and down as the horse continued on its path. Skyrim's chilled air ensured the trip would not be completely enjoyable, but the weather was agreeable nonetheless. Whiterun wasn't staggeringly far from Ivarstead by any means, especially on horseback, but the road around The Throat of the World was often fraught with bandits and dastardly highwaymen. Trapped in unwavering tension with the Stormcloaks, the Imperials had failed to make any real effort to clean up the remains of Helgen. As such, the scorched ruins had become a breeding ground for notorious bandits everywhere.

"I do hope you know what you are doing, bringing Hircine's little trinket along with you. That could come back to bite us should some weary traveler decide they want it."

Fara glanced down at the dull ring on her finger. The head of a wolf all but frozen in time stared back at her. Its maw hung wide open, as if taunting some poor soul to place its head within. She clenched her fist around the reins and pulled them tighter. "I'm sure we will be fine."

J'kizo tightened the sash around his waist that held his katana to his back. "If you say so."

Fifteen full minutes went by in silence as the two rode side by side as the age-old companions they were. It was almost nostalgic; and it brought Fara back to the days when they used to explore the sands around their city in Elsweyr when J'kizo was just a kit, and she, just a girl. She longed for those days again. To feel the yellow and red sand beneath her toes, to rest under the many trees, to taste her mother's cooking as she manipulated the Khajiit cuisine to better suit the young human girl. It was a memory worth dying to have. And yet, as the days went on, she could feel that memory becoming more and more of a distant illusion. She was proud to be only one of two people who would share that illusion, however, and it made her feel as if she always had a dream worth fighting for, an invaluable thing to have in the cold emptiness of the land of Skyrim.

It wasn't long before the duo's path eventually crossed with the river that would lead them to Whiterun. J'kizo had provided interference, scouting the area between their earlier position and their current place along the river, which included a pass near the Helgen ruins. Their travel, thankfully, remained free of the bandits they had been so desperately trying to avoid. Given the near optimal weather conditions and the unimpeded journey, they had managed to make it to Riverwood slightly ahead of schedule.

Unlike J'kizo's previous trip, the duo did not stay for pleasantries or even for information. Rather, they took the opportunity to unpack a late lunch of salted meat, cow's milk, Elsweyr Fondue, Ashfire Mead, and sweet rolls to satisfy Fara's legal sweet tooth. Neither of the two spoke, preferring to finish their meal in silence and continue on to Whiterun as soon as possible. When J'kizo had finished his last sip of wine, he and Fara began cleaning up their mess. The Khajiit had made a point of keeping their leftovers; he was certain it wouldn't be long before he would be aching to shove more food down his gullet.

The two wasted no time in picking up where they had left off. They crossed the old cobblestone bridge that led out of town, and followed the northern path alongside the river. The dense forest to their left teemed with life, and Fara could hear a few non-descript animals calling from within. She snapped the reins and led the horse to briskly gallop down the path. J'kizo quickly matched her gait, causing the sheath of his sword to bob up and down off of the horse's flank. It didn't take long for them to clear the brush, and for a vast open field containing Whiterun to become visible.

The farms outside the city walls varied in activity, with some having multiple hands to take care of the crops while others had little to no one tending to them at all.

"At first glance, it would be difficult for one to tell that dragons descended upon this land like a plague," said J'kizo. "They try to carry on with their lives as if nothing had ever happened."

"Perhaps that is for the best?"

The cat scoffed. "Hardly, you can only brush a problem under a rug for so long before the lump becomes noticeable. It is not even as if all of the dragons have been vanquished anyway. No, they hide in their homes and pray to their gods that the next beast that falls from the sky will fall far from their home."

"Can you blame them?"

"Yes, I most certainly can. Despite how much the word leaves their mouths, the Nords have all but forgotten what "honor" really is. Honorable men to not bite at each other's throats when a much more dangerous threat looms just above them." He peered over to see Fara giving him a quizzical look. "Despite how I feel about their actions, I do not hate the Nords. They simply need a heavy reminder that they aren't the only race on Tamriel worth saving. And "_his majesty_" Ulfric Stormcloak ought to be front and center when that speech is given."

Fara's eyes sparked. "You sound like a legionnaire."

"I do not fault the Nords for wanting to protect a land as beautiful as Skyrim, but they ought to spend more time distinguishing between friend and foe."

"Hmm, well regardless, Whiterun is just up ahead. Let's get a move on."

J'kizo nodded. "Right."

* * *

"And just where do you think you're going?"

J'kizo sunk his head in frustration. "By the Two Moons, I knew this was going to be an issue."

The gate guard stood firmly in front of the large wooden doors. "You know your kind isn't trusted in our cities.

Fara stepped between the two. "Look, I promise you will get no trouble from us. We're simply here to get things started for our newspaper business in Skyrim. We have no intention of overstaying our welcome here."

The guard shook his head. "I'm sorry, while I don't have any problem with Bretons, the Khajiit have a stigma about them for a reason. Our suspicion with his kind is not unfounded."

"But sir I—"

"He is forbidden from entering."

The tone his voice was evidence enough that he had no intention of letting J'kizo past him. J'kizo put a tender hand on Fara's shoulder. "It's alright, I was prepared for this. I will wait for you to return. Just, try not to being too long."

The Khajiit took his leave and retraced his steps back down the path to the stables outside of the city. He looked back over his shoulder and waved to his friend before disappearing around the corner.

"I apologize for any inconvenience—"

Fara sighed loudly and closed her one visible eye. "Please just let me into the city."

"Erm, right." The guard stepped to the side and nodded toward the door. "It's unlocked, you can head inside."

Without another word she pried the doors open and slipped inside Whiterun's walls.

Surprisingly enough, Fara was not greeted with the cacophonous chatter of a city that she had initially expected. The peaceful air and citizens within reflected a tranquil atmosphere and a simplicity that Fara could only remain envious of. It would have been a nice place to settle down, if not for the bigotry she had encountered only moments earlier.

Having only been to Whiterun on one previous occasion, Fara made directly for the town's inn. It was one of the few installations whose location she was sure of, other than Dragonsreach. She passed through the small town market where vendors were using premeditated words and phrases to ensure that coin found its way into their pockets by sundown. Given the relatively low amount of traffic in the area, Fara couldn't see this being an accomplished goal.

Without giving it another thought, she climbed the set of stairs in front of the inn and made her way inside the warm building. A bard stood next to a large flame, strumming his lute and allowing his voice to meander through the cozy walls of the inn. Huddled around the fire, warriors traded stories of conquest and boasted of feats that they claimed would get them into Sovngarde without question. Fara couldn't help but smile at the merriment. The kinship they showed gave her hope for the same land that J'kizo had concerned thoughts of.

Fara placed herself on one of the stools at the bar and was approached by a weary looking innkeeper who, probably for her own sake as much as Fara's, put on the best smile she could.

"Welcome to the Bannered Mare. We've got food, drinks, and a place to lay your head for the day. What can I get for you?"

"Actually, I'm here on business," Fara began. "I'm starting a newspaper business here in Skyrim, and I was hoping you could point me in the direction of anything interesting. We'll be in need of some good headlines to get things going once we've got everything established."

The innkeeper's expression shifted slightly, indicating that the question had tickled her fancy. She tapped her fingers against the table, trying to come up with an acceptable piece of information. "I'm sorry, but all I can think of is the news that everyone's already heard a hundred times over. There's the never-ending feud between the Grey-Manes and Battle-Borns and then of course the Jarl."

"The Jarl?"

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me you haven't heard of the Jarl's behavior?"

"I live out in Ivarstead. News is, infrequent, to say the least."

"Hmm, well the Jarl has been acting distant as of late. Some might even call it cold." She began wiping the counter down with a small cloth. "Personally, I wouldn't think too much of it. The man has been under a lot of stress as of late with the war and all. It's no wonder he's been distant."

Fara lightly tapped her fingers together under her chin. "Perhaps, but there could be more to it. Maybe I should speak to him myself."

The innkeeper flashed Fara a skeptical look. "If you you're lucky enough to, I only ask that you have patience with him. Given the ongoing war, the poor man has barely had any time to rest."

Fara smiled gently, "You have my word."


End file.
